Father of an Angel
by Kambei Strangelove
Summary: Dexter finds himself totally overtaken by his dark passenger. However, the person he kills may end up taking him down a dangerous path.


**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE COPYRIGHT TO THE TELEVISION SHOW "DEXTER".**

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><p><strong>Father of an Angel <strong>

**Chapter 1**

Thinking about writing more chapters. That depends on it's reception. If my writing is crap, then I'll cease this project all together. If you guys enjoy it, then I'll have no problem writing more material. In other words, if you want to see more, REVIEW IT.

"Tonight's the night". This is a phrase which Dexter Morgan often used hours before he fulfilled the darkest desire any human can have. He hadn't used the phrase on this particular kill, however. He had not known that this night would be the night. He had done something he isn't usually likely to do. He was about to kill a man without any preparation.

Dexter knew the hunger had been killing him for quite some time now. He had been otherwise occupied with work, Debra being shot and Lundy killed, and of course Rita and the baby. The hunger, the dark passenger, was there through it all, though. Consuming him until it totally took him over. He had no control, and Dexter at this point didn't want to have any control; he wanted nothing more than to let go.

Dexter was driving slightly recklessly at the time. He was very tired, but unfortunately couldn't seem to shut himself down. It was late at night, but Dexter could see perfectly. The lights of Miami were plentiful, and his eyes had already adjusted to the darkness. This side of Miami was alive; he needed to find a place that was mostly dead.

Dexter continued driving until he was at an area that met that description. He scanned the few people he saw, making sure his M99 tranquilizer was ready. He saw a young woman.

"No," he thought. "She looks too athletic; too high of a chance to successfully escape". He saw a middle aged man, but happened to notice what looked to be a gun holster at his waist. "Far too risky," he said, giving a slight shake of the head.

He saw a candidate that seemed to be to his liking. He was a much older man, moderately overweight. He was obviously not concealing any weapons. He seemed very content with life, and had an air of carelessness about him. "Absolutely perfect," Dexter said to himself with a quiver of excitement surging through him.

He noticed him go into a bar. Dexter parked close to the back of the bar. He noticed that, luckily enough for him, there no surveillance instruments of any kind. He again, probably for the sixth time that night, makes sure the M99 is ready in his lower pants pocket.

"What the fuck am I doing?" he states in self reproach at the spontaneity of what was happening.

Dexter takes a deep breath and enters the bar. The bar was a fairly leisurely bar. No loud music or dancing, and there wasn't but around nine other people in the bar aside from himself. He quickly leaves and goes around to the back before anyone noticed him.

"Haven't I taught you anything?" asks Harry, Dexter's lifelong paternal, now celestial guide. "I said, time and time again when you were younger, only kill those who deserve it".

Dexter stops and places his palm upon his forehead. "Will you please be quiet?" Dexter argues.

"You don't have any proof," Harry retorts.

"That fucking dreadful bowler's hat he's wearing isn't crime enough?" Dexter states in resentment.

"No, Dexter, it isn't," Harry says, with genuine concern.

Dexter was in the midst of trying to decide how to go about capturing the old man when this conversation took place. He was closing in on the decision to wait outside until he saw the old man. If he were alone, he'd simply inject him with the M99 and carry him to his car. It seemed a bit on the simple side, but it also seemed sufficient. At least, it seemed so to his tired, unbelievably desperate mind.

"I can't plan, I can't satisfy any prerequisites, I can only do," Dexter thought to himself. "Right now, I can only do," he repeats to cement his reasoning.

Many minutes went by. The old man finally came out, obviously at least slightly drunk. Dexter lies down on the ground and speaks up. "Hey, man, could you come help me out? A group of people kicked my ass."

The old man takes a couple of steps forward. "What?" he says with a slightly slurred speech.

"These couple of guys cornered me back here a couple hours ago. I think they may have broken something."

The old man starts walking towards Dexter, with a slightly hurried pace.

While the old man was making his way towards him, Dexter thought "I wonder if I'll feel any remorse after I kill him?"

The old man finally reached Dexter and held out a hand. "Let's see if we can get you on your feet," the old man states in a friendly, but slightly disoriented tone. Dexter takes his hand, and as he is lifted up shoves the syringe into the old man's neck and squeezes the plunger hard. The old man's eyes go wild with shock, but eventually they shut, and Dexter immediately begins carrying him over to his trunk.

He places him safely in the trunk of his car. He gets back into the driver's seat, and looks around to make sure no one noticed anything. After being satisfied by the dead nature of his immediate surroundings, Dexter began driving. "Now, where do I make the kill?" He thought.

The kidnapping itself had been so easy, he didn't believe it. Surely he had made some mistake. And sure enough, he had made a mistake. Not at the bar, though. He was speeding, and a police officer was currently in the midst of trying to pull him over.

"Shit," said Dexter, "you've got to be kidding me". He pulled over as soon as he could. He definitely couldn't risk trying to evade a police officer. The cop seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to get to the vehicle, though that may have been due to the fact that time seemed to stop for Dexter. Every nerve in his body felt on edge. He rolled down his window and began getting out his wallet.  
>"You were going 80 miles per hour on a 55 mile per hour road, sir," the cop said flatly. He was clearly tired and didn't want to be there. This was something Dexter would attempt to use to his advantage.<p>

"Sorry, I'm just kind of out of it. Lack of sleep, I just, I don't even know what I'm doing," he said. The cop seemed to have a reaction of being bewildered by this comment.

Dexter showed him his ID. "Dexter Morgan. You're a cop?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"Forensics," Dexter said quickly. He really didn't want this conversation to continue.

"Can you step out of the car, please?" The cop asked Dexter.

Dexter did not want to hear that, but he complied. He got out and walked to the police officer. It was as Dexter suspected, he was getting a breathalyzer test. Dexter was never one for drugs and alcohol, though he was certainly suffering from withdrawal at the time. Not from anything that could be picked up on a breathalyzer test, luckily enough for Dexter.

The breathalyzer test was negative, and the police officer let Dexter go. He didn't seem to want to, however. Something about Dexter didn't feel right to the cop. The cop wrote down Dexter's license plate number for future reference; just in case. Dexter got back into his car and continued driving.

Dexter didn't think of any of the possible repercussions for what just happened. He wasn't himself, and he wouldn't feel himself again until he fed his hunger; until he was satisfied. Dexter decided that he was going to kill the man near the dock where his boat was at. He already had the garbage bags in his trunk.

Unfortunately, one thing he did not have was plastic sheeting to cover the kill room. He also didn't have anything to cover his clothes from the blood.

"I'll have to strip," Dexter thinks to himself.

He finds a small shed next to a warehouse which seemed to be acting as a storage unit. It was approximately five miles from his boat's dock. "It'll have to do," Dexter thought to himself. Dexter parked the car around five hundred feet from the shed, and looks around to make sure no one was around. He gets out, grabs the old man, and begins carrying him to the shed.

When Dexter enters the shed, he finds that it is full of tools. He clears a work bench and begins constraining the old man to the table with rope. He strips down to his underwear, and places them inside one of the garbage bags to stay until he's done dismembering the body. Dexter wasn't exactly sure how he wanted to proceed from there. He paced back and forth and decided he wanted to wake the man up.

He waltzes over to the man and begins slapping him.

"What the-" the old man says, experiencing an initial shock of being awoken.

"Sorry. I'm honestly not sure why I've awakened you. You've done nothing I'm aware of that I can try to force you to admit. I guess it's just, tradition?" Dexter says, sincerely questioning the validity of that term.

_Tradition_. Dexter healthily chuckles at that thought. The old man didn't say anything. "I've-" Dexter says, and then stops himself. He shakes his head and begins again, "I've had a bad day," he says. "My sister was shot and her boyfriend killed, and I can't seem to do anything right at home with my wife and kids, or at my job," Dexter increases the pressure of his grip on his blade.

"Listen, sir, I'm real sorry about your sister. But, if you're intending doing me harm, I, well, it won't help anything," the old man pleads, with real sorrow in his voice.

"Oh, believe me, it will," Dexter says. Dexter raises the blade, and he immediately feels a surge of euphoria. He feels connected to everything, and not a thing in the world seems able to knock him off the high he was experiencing.

He brings the knife down into the man's heart, and immediately a rush of clarity came to him. He was still drowsy from the lack of sleep, but there was a definite difference. The clarity allowed him to truly contemplate what he had just done and he began to worry. He removes the blade, and lays it down on the table.

"What have I done?" Dexter says, putting his head in his hands.

The police officer stopping him was what he was truly concerned about. Someone had seen him. That links him nearby the crime scene at the time of death. Dexter then thinks of something else, who had he killed? He immediately began searching the man's pants pocket for a wallet.

He examines the I.D. The name was Domingo Batista. _Batista_. "There is no fucking way," Dexter mouths.

**He had just killed the father of his co-worker.**

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><p><strong>Wrote this spontaneously. If you guys enjoy it, please review it. The continuation of this story will be totally dependent on the reception it receives. If no one seems to take any interest in it, or if most people seem to think my writing is rubbish, I'll discontinue this project all together. If there is real positive reception, I'll have no problem coming up with new material. (And P.S., all further additions of this story will be MUCH longer).<strong>


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